


i'll watch the night turn light blue (but it's not the same without you)

by gaystcr



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Pendragon Returns, Based on an Owl City Song, Canon Era, Hurt Merlin, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Merlin, Resurrection, anyway props to my friend lulu for supporting me through this shit!, can't help but love these idiots, it gets better!!!!!!!!!!, merlin learns how to accept himself, mlm author, my sons hold hands, this deals with a lot of merlin's actual feelings so like. warning lmfao, this is gonna hurt you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 07:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12744171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaystcr/pseuds/gaystcr
Summary: the aftermath of arthur's death is like the pause between two parts of a song, a bridge to something else.(merlin realises what exactly arthur means to him after his death. watch as this magical idiot learns how to deal with it and accept himself for who he is, his own person.)





	i'll watch the night turn light blue (but it's not the same without you)

**Author's Note:**

> here i come with a 6k merlinarthur fic and i'm not even fucking sorry
> 
> 1\. props to my friend lulu for supporting me through my bullshit and crying with me over merlin even though she's never watched it. i love you so much wtf
> 
> 2\. thanks to vanilla twilight by owl city for this fic. this was completely inspired by that song, please go and listen to it, it's rad and it's gonna make you cry
> 
> 3\. can't remember what i wanted to say but to round this all off with a nice three, i'd like to say that dude i don't own shit, the characters belong to the bbc!

_oh, if my voice could reach back through the past,_

_i’d whisper in your ear:_

_“oh darling, i wish you were here.”_

**Vanilla Twilight, Owl City.**

 

* * *

 

 

Merlin presses his forehead against Arthur’s, and it feels like the world is burning around him, and he shakes Arthur, over and over again –

“ _Come on,_ come on, come on, c’mon, c’mon,” he says, and he shakes him and he shakes him and his words are blurring together until they’re turning into tears, he feels like he’s on _fire_ , because this is all he’s known and all of is coming to an _end_. He’s not ready, he’s not ready, he’s not fucking ready –

Arthur blinks his eyes open, and they’re all hazy and gone and not the eyes that Merlin knows, not the swirling, caring eyes that Merlin lov – that he knows, yet a wave of relief washes through him, because Arthur’s here, and yeah, yeah, Merlin can keep him alive.

Arthur pulls him down, pulls him down by his neckerchief and for a moment, for a moment Merlin thinks – but he doesn’t, his mouth trying to form a sentence. “I – want – I want t – to say some – something I’ve never s – said be – before.”

Merlin shakes his head, and he doesn’t know whose tears he’s crying. “Don’t say goodbye.”

Arthur blinks at him and his eyes go hazy again, and it’s fucking – _it’s fucking_ – “I – no – I love you.”

And it feels like all of the magic has been drained out of him, like it’s been wrung out and left to dry and the earth shudders beneath him, like it _knows_ like it’s been preparing for this one moment for its entire life. It’s like the universe is having one last laugh at him, like it’s ripping out his other half, his very _essence_ away for him for its enjoyment. He’s gasping for air in a world that denies him oxygen, and his l – _his love_ is dying in his arms and there’s no going back from this, there’s no going back.

He shakes Arthur again – god, why do humans always _shake_ them? – and he begs and pleads and _begs_. “Come on, Arthur, you can’t just say that and – and _leave_ – come _on_ , come on!”

Arthur reaches his hand up to stroke Merlin’s hair, and he smiles, and Merlin can see the warmth behind it, the sunshine, the hope and love that is so completely and _entirely_ Arthur and no – he can’t lose him – he can’t, he can’t, he can’t –

Arthur’s eyes close, and Merlin knows that it’s the end this time.

And he’s holding Arthur in his arms, and he’s crying, and it feels like the ground is going to break in half and swallow him whole and he wouldn’t fucking mind – he wouldn’t fucking mind dying, because it’d be happier if they both died instead of just one, and _god_ , he loves Arthur.

Don’t they deserve _more_?

 

* * *

 

 

“And when Albion’s need is greatest,” says Kilgarrah, “Arthur will rise again.”

Merlin’s head snaps up. He’s still in shock from it all; because Arthur, the Once and Future King, his Arthur, he can’t possibly be dead. This is a fluke, just like that one time he drank that ‘poison.’

“W – when?” asks Merlin, and his voice cracks. Kilgarrah’s eyes soften for the first time in the time that Merlin has known him. Merlin is barely holding it together; still hurting, still in shock, still in disbelief. Arthur isn’t dead.

“I do not know,” admits the dragon. “I wish – I wish I could tell you, Merlin, but one never truly knows these – “

“You _must_ know!” exclaims Merlin, and he’s crying again, he’s crying and Kilgarrah looks sad too – if dragons can be sad – and no, no, _no_. “You must know something, you always give me a riddle and I always figure out what it means. Please, Kilgarrah, you must know something, _please_.”

Kilgarrah shakes its head, solemn. “I am sorry, Merlin.”

Merlin drops to the ground, and he can’t find the energy to get back up again. He blinks through his tears. “I can’t – I can’t lose him.”

“You love him,” says Kilgarrah, and it’s a simple statement, and it’s the truth.

“You said yourself that we’re two sides of the same coin. That we’re two halves of one whole. That our destinies are intertwined. How can I live without him, Kilgarrah? I can’t lose him.”

Kilgarrah smiles, and it’s gentle. “You haven’t. You never will,” it says, and it flaps its wings. “My time is short, old friend. These years that I have known you has been one of the best times in my long and lonely life. It has been a pleasure to know you, young warlock.”

Merlin shakes his head. He can’t lose someone else too. But – but he knows he has to, he knows he will. “Likewise,” he says, “I hope that someday we may meet again.”

Kilgarrah inclines its head and takes off into the distance, slowly. Merlin looks at it fly away into the horizon, and he hopes that it will be comfortable in its last hours of life. He looks towards the ground again, and Arthur lies in front of him. He looks so peaceful up close, his eyes closed, his mouth rested into a light smile, his hands folded across his stomach. Merlin’s heart twists.

“Alright,” he says out loud. “Alright.”

There’s a boat on the shore, and it’s as if it has been placed there for this moment, for Merlin to say goodbye – for Arthur to go. The universe, it’s playing some sort of trick on both of them, and it isn’t – it isn’t alright. Merlin drags the boat out, knowing full well that he can do it with a flick of his hand, but it hurts too much to think, his magic is _hurting_.

With a muttered spell that pains him far more than it should, he levitates Arthur onto the boat, and he almost starts crying again. He puts Arthur’s arms in place, brushing his hair to the side. He can’t – he can’t –

“You’re an _idiot_ ,” says Merlin, hoping that somewhere, this prat can hear him. “You can’t just leave me here, you can’t expect me to go on with my life. How am I supposed to be? How am I supposed to live without missing you? God, _Arthur_ , come back to me. You’re...you’re an idiot and I hate you, except I don’t really, because I love you, and you wouldn’t just stay the fuck alive for me to say it, would you?”

He doesn’t know how long he cries. He kneels beside the boat and he sobs, before he remembers that people are waiting for him, that they’re waiting for Arthur – who won’t be there. He brushes away his tears, and he takes Excalibur and swings it around, throwing it into the lake. A hand catches it. Merlin smiles, watery. At least Excalibur is safe.

He pushes the boat out to the water, and Arthur floats away from him. Merlin watches him float away slowly, and he doesn’t set him on fire, he _will not_ set him on fire. The boat moves peacefully across the lake, and he wishes it was him on that boat, he wishes that it wasn’t Arthur who had to die.

The lake ripples with magic, as the water opens up and swallows the boat and Arthur, before reverting back to its original lake. Merlin stares at it. Nothing surprises him anymore. He sits down on the shore, cross-legged, and he looks at the lake. Something feels hollow inside of him; like something’s missing. Merlin clicks his fingers. A spark appears.

Arthur’s gone.

The revelation hits Merlin like a ton of bricks, and he almost knocks himself over. He can’t cry anymore, his tears have been all used up. The sigil that Arthur gave him, the one that belonged to his mother, the one that Merlin has looped through some rope and wears it as a necklace every day, it feels heavier against his chest. He blinks, and the spark disappears. Merlin reaches around his neck to untie his neckerchief, the one that Arthur gifted him for Yule last year (“Here, take it,” he had said gruffly. “I know how much you like them, and your old one’s getting ratty.”) and clutches it in his hands.

He stands up and throws it into the lake, and it shimmers and drowns.

“Come back to me, dollop head. I’ll wait.”

 

* * *

 

 

The trek back to Camelot is far.

He’s never noticed how far Camelot is before, how long one has to walk from Avalon to go back home. Except he doesn’t really have a home, does he? Home has always been where Arthur is, and now that – now that Arthur is somewhere deep in the trenches of the Lake of Avalon, should Merlin drown as well?

He possibly hasn’t noticed how far it is because he’s always had Arthur. Arthur, who’s always bossing him around and making him do chores; Arthur, who willingly puts his life at risk for Merlin; Arthur, who bickers and banters and smiles and _loves_.

Yes, the trek back to Camelot is far.

But he makes it, after long nights of walking, and days of turning to say something excitedly to Arthur – except Arthur isn’t there, and Merlin misses him, god, he misses him.

He walks into Camelot, and for once, it doesn’t feel like returning home. He is the bearer of heavy news; will the world let him rest for a while? The people are still bustling, the shops are still packed, but there is an eerie air of loss, of worry. Merlin holds onto the stick that he’s been using to help him walk, because for some reason he doesn’t have the energy anymore.

Someone notices him, and they point and shout. Almost immediately, the entire hustle and bustle stops, and everyone stares at him. It’s strange, because that shouldn’t happen in real life, but _Merlin_ is the one who knows their King best, and their King, well, their King is –

“Merlin!” exclaims Gwen, who’s buying something in the town square, running towards him and wrapping him up into a hug. Merlin’s heart hurts when he sees her. How does he – how does he – “God, I’m so glad you’re safe, Merlin, I’m so glad you’re alive. I thought – is – is Arthur – “

Merlin shakes his head. Gwen’s face falls. “He’s – “ he tries to say it, he _swears_ he tries, he swears, but he bursts out into tears again, and he cries into Gwen’s shoulder. The entirety of Camelot stares.

Gwen doesn’t cry. She tears up, sure, but she doesn’t cry, because Merlin knows that she knew that in her heart of hearts, Arthur wasn’t coming back, and he knows that she knows that she has to be strong for Merlin, because he is so utterly weak. “Shhh,” she soothes him, rubbing circles into his back. “Shhh. We’re going to be alright, Merlin, we’re going to be alright.”

Merlin doesn’t voice his doubts. He simply cries into one of his best friends’ arms.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s been escorted to Arthur’s chambers, where he and Gwen sit, waiting for the others. Merlin can’t bear to look at anything, to touch anything. He sits on a chair and stares at the floor, because if he looks up, he’ll see Arthur’s clothes, Arthur’s bed, everything that reminds him of Arthur, and he’s cried enough this week, he’s cried enough.

_No man is worth your tears._

_You certainly aren’t._

Merlin had lied.

Percival is the first to burst in, and he spots Merlin, immediately bundling him in for a hug. Merlin sniffles. He doesn’t cry. Percival just holds him for a long time, before ruffling Merlin’s hair and whispering, “I’m sorry. I know how much you loved him.”

Merlin nods. Gwen holds his hand as the other Knights stream in, one by one, and offer their condolences to both Gwen and Merlin. They all have bloodshot eyes, and Merlin tears up again when he hears that Gwaine is no more. The Council pours in too, and they all sit in Arthur’s chambers, cramped. Nobody complains.

As soon as Gwen nods at him, Merlin stands, clearing his throat. Eyes are drawn to him. It feels strange, being in a position of charge. He’d be more comfortable standing at the side, standing at _Arthur’s_ –

Now, however, is not the time to think about that.

“As I’m sure you all know, Arthur – the King has – has – _is_ no more,” he says, and people cast their eyes downwards. Merlin doesn’t think about what he said. “I – I couldn’t get him to the Lake of Avalon in time – “

“It isn’t your fault,” says Gwen firmly. The Knights all nod in agreement. The Council looks torn, but Merlin doesn’t think about that. It _is_ his fault. If he had just got him there _sooner_.

“Arthur’s wish was that Gwen – I mean, Queen Guinevere is to rule Camelot, and whomever she choose fit to be her consort, and after her, whomever she chooses fit to be her heir,” says Merlin, and to his surprise, they all seem to be in agreement. Gwen is a rather good queen. One or two look disgusted, but they’re men who think women aren’t suitable to take positions of power, and Merlin doesn’t have the time, or the patience for that today.

Merlin takes a deep breath. “I’d also like to say that, uh. Um, I have magic.” Everyone in the room gasps and start muttering underneath their breath, everyone except Gwen and the Knights, or at least the ones that he knows.

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” demands a Council member.

Merlin shakes the thought of Arthur asking him the same question, and mumbles a spell, and embers from the lit fire float up to form a picture. Normally it’s a unicorn, or a dragon, but this time it’s Arthur, of Arthur laughing and smiling. Merlin looks back down, clenching his fists. The picture drops, abruptly.

Nobody says a word. Gaius would normally be up and defending him at this point; except he’s in his chambers, having been taken ill. Half of the Council look distrustful, while the other half looks amazed.

“ _Sorcerer_!” one shouts, and from there, it’s utter chaos.

“He should be hanged! Burned!”

“He has served our King for a decade! Do you not think he would have killed him sooner?”

“Merlin has always had a fair and just heart!”

“He is a sorcerer!”

Merlin sits down, the weight of magic weighing down his shoulders too easily. He sighs. He wishes Arthur were here. The Council stops arguing abruptly, realising that they are the only ones bothered by the turn of events.

Gwen stands up and starts talking about how magic was not an inherently bad thing, and soon they were all discussing plans and mapping out ways to change the laws. Most of the Council still looked distrustful, but there wasn’t much Merlin could do, was there?

 

* * *

 

 

Today is the day that marks the tenth year of the death of King Arthur Pendragon.

The people are gathered around the statue that Merlin had built in the town square. He hadn’t meant to do it, not really. He’d been curled up in the corner of Arthur’s chambers and his magic just...exploded. It’s a tall statue, depicting Arthur on a horse, Excalibur in the air, smile on his face. Merlin goes out of his way to avoid it.

He looks out of the window. People are clasping their hands together and kneeling in front of the statue, whispering prayers. Merlin looks away, his face hard. If there were truly gods out there, then they would have listened by now.

There’s a slight knock at the door. Merlin startles. Nobody ever comes this way anymore, nobody except him. Merlin practically lives here now, in Arthur’s chambers, after Gaius died a little after Arthur. Nobody bothers him, except Gwen and Knights, mostly. He cleans up after himself, sleeps on the floor, because he doesn’t dare touch Arthur’s bed – _doesn’t dare_.

“Come in,” he says, clearing his throat. It’s strange, he thinks, to feel important, to have someone knock before they come in. He still feels like Merlin, the village boy, instead of Lord Merlin, Court Sorcerer of Camelot.

A servant girl pops her head in. Emma, remembers Merlin. “Sire? The Queen requests your presence.”

Merlin nods. “Tell her I’ll be there soon. And it’s just Merlin, remember?”

Emma smiles. “Of course,” she says, and then fiddles with her apron. “If – if it isn’t too out of place, would you mind me asking why you spend so much time – or live here? In the – the King’s chambers?”

Merlin blinks, eyes tearing up. It’s been a decade. _A decade_ without Arthur. He pulls a chair from the table and gestures at it. “Sit,” he says, sitting down himself. Emma sits down and looks at him, like she’s ready to hear an epic story.

“You know about Arthur – King Arthur?” he asks, and Emma nods. Of course she does. Everyone knows who Arthur is. But not everyone knows who _Arthur_ is. Was. “I used to be his manservant.”

“I know,” says Emma.

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “You do?”

“Yeah. I was around ten years when the King died. People still tell stories of you two in all of Camelot, you know?” she says. Merlin curls his hands into fists. “Every child in this kingdom falls asleep to listening to them. They talk about your adventures, everything you’ve been through together. They talk about how they wouldn’t see one of you without the other, how you two would always walk together like equals and chase each other around like young boys. You were two sides of the same coin, two halves of a whole, they say.”

Merlin laughs bitterly. “You’re not the first person to tell me that,” he says, and his fists turn white. What’s the worth of one broken half?

“Do you miss him?”

Merlin swallows. It’s been ten years, _ten fucking years_. “Yes,” he says shortly. “Yeah. I miss him.”

“I’m sorry,” says Emma, and it doesn’t sound empty, like all the other ‘I’m sorry’s’ that Merlin has received over the years. It sounds deep and sad and true, and Merlin hopes that this girl hasn’t lost anyone. It’s the first time he’s hoped in years. “I – “

She looks like she wants to say something, but she stops, and says instead, “Queen Guinevere must be expecting you by now.”

Merlin nods. “Thank you, Emma,” he says, and she gets up and makes to leave. “You can talk to me anytime, you know that, right?”

She smiles. “Likewise.”

Merlin watches her go and stands up. He knows he won’t be talking to anyone about Arthur anytime soon.

He gets up and stretches. Now is not the time to be thinking about him – never is the time to be thinking about him. Merlin reaches up to his neck to adjust his neckerchief – he never got into the habit of wearing noble clothes – and for a moment he forgets that it’s a different one, that it’s different from the one that Arthur bought him, a different one from the one that he threw into the lake  –

 _Not today,_ he thinks, steels himself, and walks briskly out of the room and through the corridors, looking straight ahead. _Not today_.

Gwen is waiting for him in the council chambers, sitting at the Round Table. _Don’t think about him, don’t think about him._ She smiles at him and gestures at the table, where only Leon and Percival are sitting. He sits, hesitantly.

“How you feeling, Merlin?” asks Percival, jostling him with his shoulder. Merlin grins, and it’s almost an actual smile. Percy has always looked out for him, always made sure he’s alright, especially in the direct aftermath of Arthur’s – of Arthur.

Merlin shrugs and Leon nudges his other shoulder. It’s almost like the – like the good old days, when they would jostle each other around and muck about and have fun like young boys. Merlin has had to grow up so quickly. “I’m alright,” he says, and Gwen gives him a look. “Fine – I’m not alright.”

Gwen’s look of fond amusement quickly dips into one of sympathetic hurt. She takes his hand, and it’s a reassuring touch, reminding Merlin of the days when they used to talk to each other almost every day, the best friends in all of the world. Merlin knows that she understands. Maybe she’s the only one. She’s still broken up over Morgana – and it’s been _years_ – and she loved her, so, so much.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, and Merlin knows that she knows the answer, she’s been asking him for _ten years_ – and so have Leon and Percival – and he always, always says no. Always.

He closes his eyes and he can feel his magic receding, almost fading away from him, before flushing through him, gold and bright. It had become like waves in the years after Arthur; and he doesn’t know why, he can’t be bothered to find out why. It’s – it’s probably good for him to talk to _someone_ , to communicate. “Yes,” he says. It’s weak. But it’s a yes.

Leon claps his shoulder. “Good man,” he says. “It’s okay if Percy and I stay here to listen, yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Merlin. “I really missed talking to you all. You know. _Properly_ talking.”

They’ve aged so quickly. Gwen smiles, and it still looks the same as years ago. It brings Merlin comfort, nostalgia. “Well, you can now. Merlin, how are you _actually_ dealing with Arthur’s death?”

Merlin swallows. “Not well?” he offers. “It’s been ten years; and I know I should be over it. I know I should stop feeling guilty.”

“It’s not your fault,” says Percival firmly.

“I _know_ ,” says Merlin. “But that doesn’t make it _hurt less_. I keep thinking to myself, every night, Percy, every night; what if I got him there sooner? What if I could have saved him?”

“ _It’s not your fault,_ ” presses Leon. Merlin shakes his head.

“I damn well know it’s not my fault. I know that. But I could have saved him, I could have really tried, I could have called the dragon. But I didn’t. Do you know _how much_ that hurts? Do you understand how _much_ the fact that his life was within my grasp and it was ripped from me? Do you understand that _I could have saved him_ , but I couldn’t? I couldn’t.”

“Why can’t you accept that? Why not?” asks Gwen softly.

“Knowing it and feeling it are two different things,” says Merlin, steel-like.

“You’re going to be fine,” decides Percy suddenly. “Fuck it, Merlin; you’re going to be _fine._ I’ll help you every way I can, but you’re going to get better. I swear, I _promise._ ”

Merlin smiles. He knows his friends believe in him.

He’s not quite sure he believes in himself.

 

* * *

 

It’s been years. Merlin has lost count.

He sits on the hill, in the dark. He has his staff beside him, and his joints feel old and weary and he knows his time has come. He isn’t quite sure how this whole...immortal thing works, but he hopes he dies and forgets.

Dawn is peeking upon the horizon, and he looks down on Camelot. It is ruled hand in hand by a brother and sister, Gwen’s adopted children. He smiles. He has only fond memories of them, being called ‘Uncle Merlin’ and chasing them around the castle, teaching them magic. He wishes he could have got to spend more time with them.

First, it was Leon.

He died in battle, a warrior till his death. They were travelling to the borders of Camelot, that were expanding day by day, uniting Albion like he and – and Arthur hoped it would be one day. And Merlin wasn’t paying attention – and neither was Leon - and bandits. It was because of fucking _bandits_. Leon died because of fucking _bandits_ , and he died protecting _Merlin_.

Merlin shakes. His staff drops to the ground.

Next, it was Percival.

He died in the most Percy - like way; dying because he saved a child from her house caving through. To this day, Merlin is still not sure what caused the house to cave through in the first place. Merlin had tried – he had _tried_ – to bring him back to life, to bring him back, to heal him. But he couldn’t – he _failed_ – just like he did with Arthur – and the guilt weighs upon him like a burden he cannot begin to describe.

 _Lay down the world, Merlin_ , Gwen would have said, if she were here. _It will not fall._

But she died, didn’t she?

Merlin sighs and picks up his staff, twirling it in between his fingers. Gwen was his first friend, one of the few people he loved without doubt, unconditionally. She was brilliant and beautiful, and their friendship was – is – something that he treasures very dearly. But he lost her, like he’s lost everyone else.

And inevitably, his thoughts turn to Arthur, like they always do.

He stares at the night turning light blue, and he lets himself remember. Last time he’d stayed up all night was shortly before Arthur – well – died; they’d sat down in a field somewhere, after the entire fiasco with Mordred. Merlin still regrets that – just like he regrets what he did to Morgana.

Arthur had pulled Merlin down with him, and they lied together on the grass, side by side. Arthur pointed out the stars to him (“How do you know the stars, Arthur?” “Don’t ask.”) and they watched the night from pink to dark black to light blue again. Arthur had almost nodded off once or twice, but he always jerked back awake, grinning at Merlin.

(“You know, Merlin,” says Arthur conversationally, “I think of you as my closest friend.”

Merlin’s breath hitches. “Really?”

“Really,” says Arthur, looking pointedly at the sky. “All those jokes – and all those insults – they were just for play, you know that, right? Just for fun. You’ve been by my side from the start. You’ve always supported me, even when I was horribly wrong. And I don’t know if I can ever repay that. I hope – I hope I haven’t made your life miserable, Merlin.”

Merlin swallows the lump in his throat. “Not miserable, Arthur,” he says, “never miserable.”

“Yeah?” asks Arthur, and he jostles Merlin a little. Merlin grins.

“You’re my best friend, Arthur,” he says, “and we might differ – a lot – you’re the King, I’m just  a servant – “

“You’re not that,” interrupts Arthur, and then falters. “Not – not just a servant, I mean. You’re much more than that. A lot more. You – I don’t know what you are, Merlin. I don’t know what you are, but for some reason – for some reason, I’m quite fond of you.”

“You’re _fond_ of me?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“You – “

“Merlin,” blurts out Arthur. “I want you to know that – I want you to know that – I don’t think I could have ever had a life as good as I have had without you in it. I don’t think I could ever bear to lose you.”

Merlin tumbles over and lands on top of Arthur, hugging him, and Arthur laughs and loses their balance, and soon they’re wrestling all over the field, and they’re laughing and laughing and Merlin doesn’t think he ever wants to let this moment go.)

Merlin smiles at the sky. He was young, foolish, and in love. Arthur’s carved a little place into his heart; one that Merlin doesn’t think will ever heal. He’s not quite sure if it even is a wound. He sits back and looks at the stars, his old mind trying to recall the ones that Arthur taught him, the ones he swore he’ll never forget.

He won’t. Forget them. Even though he wishes he could – he won’t.

The night is light blue, and the ache in his heart is a thrum, beating to the music of his heart.

 

* * *

 

 

He dies, but he does not forget.

He never forgets.

The next few centuries blur past him. He does not remember everything; he has grown tired. The first time – he had tried – and he had failed. It hurt too much. The first time, he went looking for Arthur as soon as he could, but he never could find him.

The second, the third, the fourth – the numbers blur themselves into one. Every time, he is born in a different time, a different place, and every time, it’s a different war to fight. A different battle to win, a different evil to conquer. And every time, he makes his way to the Lake of Avalon, and every time, he waits. He waits for Arthur, and he waits for hope.

He has been born into World War One and Two, fighting alongside his friends and comrades. He helped found schools of magic. People speak his name in whispers, in reverence. Every time, he finds another friend, he finds Gwen or Morgana or Mordred or the Knights or all of them at the same time, reincarnated into different beings.

He never, ever finds Arthur.

And maybe it’s the universe playing a cruel trick on him; because even when Albion – now England – needed Arthur the most, he never rose. Or perhaps he did, and Merlin couldn’t find him.

He thinks – he thinks, he realises how much he needs Arthur. How tightly he’s woven his life around him, how now that he’s gone, Merlin has sunk into grief and despair. All of his choices – all of his life’s work – all of them have been revolved around Arthur, in some way. Merlin resents that, he resents the fact that Arthur became so much of a part of him, that he does not know how to live without him.

All their intertwined destiny, all their glory and honour and adventures, all of them are being told to children, to adults, to people with smiles on their faces and wonder in their eyes. They are being remade, written down. They never, ever mention the fact that it is a tragedy.

Merlin sighs at the lake. He is old, again, and he knows that Arthur will not return this time. He doesn’t know how to make peace with himself. He should – he should move on, realise that he is his own person, _make himself_ a new person, carve himself out of thin air, should it come to that. He knows how to – he knows how to do that. He knows he should do that.

“What would you say, Arthur?” he asks, to the air. “What would you say, if you were here?”

He knows what Arthur would say. He’d smack him upside the head, scruff his hair and tell him to stop moping about. _You’ve got to clean my chambers_ , he would say, _and polish my armour, and muck out the stables. There’s no time to be sad, Merlin. I don’t like to see you sad_.

“Well, you shouldn’t have fucking died, then, should you?” he says, and bitterness curls into his voice. “I made you the centre of my universe, Arthur; I wrapped my _life_ around you! Everything I did, all the choices I made, were _for_ you! And you went – you went and _fucking died_ on me!”

His voice has risen to a shout. The trees ripple in his anger.

“And I thought – I thought we were doing it because of our fucking shared destiny, but I cared! I care,” he says, and his voice slips into a whisper. “It’s been years, Arthur, so many years, and I – I still care. Why is it – why is it so _bloody hard_ to move on from you?”

His magic flashes. Lightning strikes. He hopes he dies, but the universe will only bring him back again – to suffer another century – to _suffer_.

He breathes in, shakily. He will make peace with himself.

He has to.

 

* * *

 

 

He has made peace with himself.

It takes years and years and years of trying, of falling down and getting back up again, of trying to fill the thrum in his heart with fake happiness, and he has made peace with himself. He does not go looking for Arthur. Not anymore.

And his heart hurts, and he will always love Arthur, but now he allows himself to kiss people who aren’t him, to love his parents, to make new friends, to love again. He lives and he loves and he learns, and he listens to his heart, this time.

His magic still thrums at his fingertips with sorrow, and his heart still thrums with ache, for a life that he and Arthur never got to live, one where he gets closure.

But Merlin talks, and he writes, and he realises that maybe, just maybe, he deserves happiness, and he deserves love, and he deserves to live.

And sometimes, when he thinks about Arthur, and he looks up at the stars, he almost thinks that he can feel him smiling down at him.

 

* * *

 

 

He returns to the lake many years later.

He doesn’t think of it as the Lake of Avalon anymore. It’s Arthur’s lake. And it comes with the calm feeling of that love still thrumming in his veins, that knowledge no longer hurting, but comforting.

He crosses his knees and rests his arms on them, looking out onto the lake. The air is cold around him, but he has just enough magic to make himself feel warm. His magic flutters around him, seeping into the cold dirt and flushing into his body again, like home. He has almost forgotten – after all of these years – how full of magic and life this place once was.

It has been years – _years_ – since he’s let himself properly think about Arthur. Properly thought about Arthur, and Camelot, and his friends, and how tightly he’d wound his life around Arthur – how unhealthy that was. He can’t help but wonder, however, what if things had gone differently?

What if Arthur had been born a peasant boy in Ealdor? What if he didn’t have these burdening responsibilities on his shoulders? What if they grew up alongside each other, like he and Will did?

Merlin looks out onto the lake stubbornly. These are things that he shouldn’t think about, for his own sanity. Arthur was born the way he was, and so was Merlin, and despite all odds, they had become friends. And he knows, he knows that he has learned how to become his own person, and he knows that he loves Arthur, and that knowledge will have to be enough.

The lake ripples.

There’s that small hope flickering inside his heart, one that bursts into full bloom. He doesn’t let himself think – he doesn’t let himself think –

Albion – _England_ – is in a time of relative peace now. Why – why would Arthur come back? He can’t – he can’t – he can’t –

He looks up, and the lake ripples again, stronger this time, and the birds fly off into the distance, cawing, and the lake ripples and ripples and opens up, and Merlin can feel the magic knocked out of him. He closes his eyes, squeezed shut, because _damn you, Arthur, fuck you_ and he doesn’t want to see him again – he doesn’t –

But he opens them up anyway, and it all comes undone. There are no birds in the sky. The trees have fallen silent. Merlin scrambles up from the shore, squinting in the distance.

The lake gently pushes out a man, with blonde hair stuck to his forehead, drenched. His clothes stick to him like another skin, and Merlin can’t believe – he can’t believe –

The lake closes up again, and the man is left floundering in the water, and Merlin almost laughs (Arthur never knew how to swim) and the water is blue and Merlin is red and Arthur is _there_ , and he dives into the water hurriedly – and it gives him a strange sense of déjà vu, remembering pulling Arthur out of the water after Sophia.

It’s been fucking _millennia_ , and he’s still saving Arthur.

Arthur is in his arms, and Merlin is determinedly _not_ looking at him, dragging him out to shore and dropping him unceremoniously, collapsing next to him. They pant for a minute, before Arthur pulls him down and looks him in the eye. Merlin holds in a breath. He never thought – he never thought he’d see Arthur again, not those fucking _blue_ eyes –

“Merlin,” he breathes, and _fuck_ , Merlin didn’t think he’d hear that voice again, and tidal waves of pain wash over him. The trees take in a breath, hushing each other.

Merlin scrambles away, as far as he can – as far as he can go. “Fuck you,” he hisses, “ _fuck you._ ”

Arthur almost looks like a hurt puppy, reaching out for him. The sun sets behind him, and his blonde hair looks darker, and the ache in Merlin’s chest reduces to a duller hum, double the amount of pain. “Merlin, what _happened_?” he asks. “I don’t – I don’t remember anything.”

Merlin stops. “You – you don’t?”

“No – I, I can’t remember much,” he replies. “I remember being very high, and a lot of pain, and being asleep and – and – I can only remember _you_ , Merlin. What happened?”

“You died,” says Merlin bluntly. Arthur’s eyes widen. “You died, and you left me – _you left me here._ I can’t – “

“Merlin,” says Arthur again, and Merlin closes his eyes again, tears threatening to leak. “Merlin, I – what _happened_?”

“Don’t you _remember_?” asks Merlin, his fingernails clawing into the dirt. “You fucking – you fucking ass, you told me you – “

Merlin stops abruptly. He can’t go on.

Arthur’s eyes widen even more, and he almost looks comical. “I – I remember that. I – _shit_. Shit. I told you I – and I went and died on you? God, Merlin, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry – “

“ _Fuck that_ , Arthur,” snaps Merlin. Arthur retracts. “You don’t know, okay? You don’t fucking know how many years I’ve spent waiting for you, how many years it took me to realise that I’m _fucking worth something_ all by myself, that I don’t have to wait for you. And – and whenever Albion needed you, you didn’t rise. Why – why did you rise now, you absolute _bastard_?”

“I don’t know,” says Arthur, and he sounds so lost and confused and so _unlike Arthur_ and Merlin doesn’t know what to do. “I just remember someone telling me that – that I needed to go back, because I should. They told me that someone was in trouble, and you know me, I can’t risk losing someone.”

Merlin laughs at that. That sounds more like Arthur.  “Arthur – I tried, you know? I wrapped my life so tightly around you, you bastard, and I just – it’s been years since you died. Millennia. And I need time – I need _time_. I can’t just pretend everything’s alright, because it isn’t, and you’re still a clotpole, and I still utterly despise you, but – but I’ve missed you.”

Arthur reaches out to touch Merlin’s hand. Merlin’s head snaps up. Arthur clears his throat. “I – uh, I remember you, and I remember all the mistakes I made in my past life, and I remember most of it – but it’s still hazy. But something I remember about myself, something I remember quite clearly, was that I was never very good with, um, expressing my feelings. I think – I think I’d like to change that.”

“It’s going to take time, Arthur,” says Merlin quickly. “It’ll take time for you to adjust here, and it’ll take time for me to get used to you being back in my life – and – and – “

“You’ve waited long enough,” says Arthur softly. “I think it’s my turn now, clotpole.”

Merlin gasps in fake shock, and Arthur laughs, and he knows that it will take weeks, months, years, and he knows that they haven’t completely talked about everything yet, but there’s a sure feeling in his heart that is slowly setting him on fire. They will.

Arthur links his fingers with Merlin’s, loosely, giving Merlin the chance to pull back, if he wants. Merlin looks up at Arthur, who’s blushing, just a little, and Merlin smiles at him.

Maybe, just maybe, he can have this.

 

* * *

 

 

_“I love you, too.”_

* * *

 

 

_the stars lean down to kiss you_

_  
and i lie awake and miss you_

 

**Vanilla Twilight, Owl City.**

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading y'all! leave a comment/kudos if y'all liked it, maybe? (also, i have a tumblr which is multifandom but i do talk about merlin x arthur quite often, so check that if y'all wanna!


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